


When Opportunity Knocks

by EasyTiga



Series: EasyTiga's SPN Kink Meme Contributions [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom HunterCorp Dean, Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Narcissism, Rimming, Rough Sex, Selfcest, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: SPN Kink Meme 2020 Prompt Fill 3Maybe Dean always wondered what it would be like to bang himself. His version from 2014 wasn't down to tango, but HunterCorp Dean sure is down to explore Dean like he's the annual earnings report.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Dean Winchester
Series: EasyTiga's SPN Kink Meme Contributions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023189
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	When Opportunity Knocks

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who is Jensen sexual, I had to do this one. I genuinely think these two are adorable together and if wincest wasn't my OTP, this one stands a high chance of taking that spot. XD

With all the shit that has happened in his life, from being an angel condom for Michael, being a Demon, spending his life hunting what goes bump in the night, always wondering if he'll ever live to a point where he can label himself _middle-aged,_ and yet still able to match pace with the best of them (those are just the things that spring to mind first, since they're kind'a fresh), it comes as no surprise to him that he's contemplating seducing the stuck-up version of himself who thought it was okay to drive his car.

There's just something about him. His hands don't look like they've been cleaning guns, sharpening blades, fixing cars, pounding flesh and lopping off the heads of vampires or worse night after night. They're smooth, soft looking, and Dean wants to know what they feel like against his own flesh, around his cock.

He likes the grooves on his hands that makes his strokes this side of a little rough, but maybe he'd like unblemished passes that imprint on him with each tug.

Beneath his… let's say clothes, would he have the scars that make up Dean's body? Will he have a deep, jagged laceration curving around his hip and stopping below his navel, from where he was launched against a wall and caught on a rusty nail protruding out, cutting into his flesh. Sam had to force him into a hospital, nagging him about infections and shit, slapping his cheeks and shaking him when Dean started to go into shock in the car, slightly concussed from his head slamming into the wall.

And that's just one example. How pure is (let's call him Deano, even if Dean isn't a fan of it by any stretch of the imagination) this version of himself, who never had to hunt like they did, never had to fear for their life like they did, never had to watch their brother die, like they did?

Also. Well. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. Sure, he wants to see how he ticks. But Dean's got a feelin' this one will be a bit more open minded than the grumpy, tight-lipped stubborn version of himself who completely blew off Dean's offer to help him relax with his mouth if he'd let him out of those stupid cuffs.

Dean literally offered to suck his own dick for the guy, having never put anything like that in his mouth before, and the bastard had the nerve to turn him down. It's free head! Dean would have whipped his cock out and told him to get to sucking.

That guy was a prude. But this one isn't. Dean's sure of it. The stuck up ones are always the biggest freaks in the sheets, so he should have no problem letting Dean fuck him senseless.

In theory, that is. The guy is a replica of himself, and while he's never been fucked before, he's sure he can figure out from Deano's reactions whether or not he's doing a damn fine job of it, or giving him the worst sex of his life.

Besides, ever since he offered to suck his own dick, he's been curious to find out what it tastes like. He's not bendy enough to get that far, and he's not sure how he would be able to explain himself if Sam happened to barge into his room and catch him attempting to tilt far enough to get his lips around the tip of his cock.

Not to mention, Dean's been told he's a good kisser. While Deano doesn't have his experiences, he's pretty sure a guy as handsome as him will have gotten laid enough to be decent at it.

The more Dean thinks about it, the more determined he is to make it happen. Deano and Samuel have to stay for a few more days (complications with their flight, weather permitting), so Dean has got to make his move now or forever regret not taking the opportunity when it's four doors down from him.

"Screw it," Dean says, getting out of bed. He leaves his room, makes a trip downstairs to grab a couple of beers, checks in quick to make sure Sam's okay, and then walk-runs up the stairs and to Deano's room as fast as he can, knocking on the door twice. He opens the door when he hears Deano say enter, like a douchebag. "Hey."

"Dean," Deano replies, sifting through a skin mag as he looks up at him. "I hope you don't mind, but I plan on taking this back with me."

"Good, right?"

"Very appealing." Deano keeps his eyes on him, crinkling at the corners. He takes the offered beer. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Dean hates beating around the bush, so he comes right out and says it.

"What d'ya think of me and you havin' some fun?" He adds a wink to put across his point better.

"An extracurricular activity, you mean, or something with less clothing involved?" Deano asks, eyes running down Dean's body. Dean puffs his chest out in response and straightens his posture. "Because I certainly wouldn't be opposed to the latter."

What is this? Sophisticated dirty talk? Dean has no idea, but his cock seems to be more than okay with it.

"To be clear, then, so nothing gets twisted here, I wanna have sex with you."

Deano's cheeks start glowing, his tongue running over his lips. "You're not going to take me out on the town first, wine and dine me? Just cut straight to the beast with two backs?"

"If that means skip the romance and screw you to death, yeah."

"Excellent," Deano says, setting the bottle on the side, unopened. He closes the skin mag, tucks it under the pillow. He crooks his finger in invitation, and Dean crawls onto the bed, rises up onto his knees and stares down at him. "I've been wanting you to ravish me since I first saw you. So brutish. So brash. So… _manly_."

"You into that?"

"Oh yes." He takes Dean's beer and puts it next to his on the side, rises up to his own knees and spreads his arms out. "I don't want you to hold anything back, Dean." Teeth that probably have regular dental checkups tease a matching plump bottom lip, and Dean swallows, aroused. He roughly removes his stupid jacket and then tears his shirt open, grunting as he yanks it off his arms. "Yes. Be rough with me, do whatever you like. I've fantasised about many a thing to do with you, Dean." Deano's breaths fan his lips, Dean's hands tucking into his pants and wrenching him against him.

"You're a talker?"

Dean runs his hands up his sides, enjoying the way he melts into him. He can't feel any of the many ugly scars, just plains of smooth, beautiful, lightly tanned skin. A little thinner than he is, not as much musculature.

"I can be quiet, if you'd prefer."

"No," Dean says, licking his lips before getting a taste of his neck, knowing what spot to hit first, if he's anything like him. Deano's head lolls, hips thrusting forward, grinding their cocks together.

"Merciful God in heaven, that's divine."

Ignoring that, Dean mouths at the spot, wet and shiny by the time he pulls back and trails his tongue up to the back of his ear, Deano's cock aligning with his, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Soft, nimble fingers cart through his hair then, massaging his scalp, cutting off his flow. He sags a little, enjoying the tingles pulsing down to the nape of his neck. Deano's other hand strokes up his back, perfectly manicured nails climbing the notches of his spine.

Deano kisses his shoulder, follows the slope, continuing to pet his hair and run his knuckles down his back. "No one takes the time to take care of you, do they, Dean?"

Dean stays silent, sags further.

"So much tension. You need a full work through. I would do so myself if I knew the first thing about massage therapy," he continues, somewhat distant for a moment. "It's a good thing then that a thorough cleaning of the pipes should also do just the trick."

Dean gets a hand on his chest and pins him to the mattress, lining up their groins, mouthing at his throat, neck, chest, planning on doing exactly what Deano just said, and then some.

"Yes, just like that. My word, I've never been treated with such brutality." He moans louder when Dean sucks a mark onto his neck, licks over it, blows until little bumps accentuate the darkening bruise. "How possessive of you. Marking me as yours, Dean?"

"For tonight, you bet your ass you are," Dean answers, reaches down to their groins and cups a hand over Deano's package, pressing, feeling him out. Deano arches up into him, hand on the nape of Dean's neck, breathing deeper. Another mark appears on his skin, and Dean smirks at his handiwork, lifting his head to taste those lips for the first time.

They're far softer than he thinks his are, opening up to him, hands in his hair, fingers scratching and pulling as he tangles their tongues. He tastes like beer and the pancakes Sam made them a few hours ago, for some reason feeling bad for the ones that probably have theirs imported or flown to them on their private jets.

He likes it, kissing deep, fucking his tongue into his mouth, burying his hand in Deano's pants. He takes hold of his cock, a little perplexed that he feels zero hair around his groin and balls, but he can't say that he minds. It'll be better for him when he's working on his lip service. Deano's lips stop moving under his, a moan passing through the gap and tickling Dean's throat.

So he knows how to handle his own cock. Good to know.

He breaks the kiss, a line of spit cutting off with a swipe of his tongue. Deano stares up at him, hungry. He knows that look. Knows that he's got the same look in his.

"In your little fantasies about me, did you ever think about me sucking your dick?" Dean questions, lowering his voice to an earthy timber, moving to latch his lips onto a fresh patch of skin and draw the blood up, adding scrapes of his teeth. Deano bucks against him, hand curling into a fist in Dean's hair, body pinned under his weight seconds later. "Stay still. Answer me."

Deano groans, pulls harder on his hair.

"I confess, I did. And I, yours. Yours wouldn't be the first I've sampled, truthfully."

"You're gay? A'right. Cool."

"What? No. Hunter Corp Academy is incredibly dull. And I'm sure you can guess what sexually charged boys get up to when they have nothing but time on their hands."

Dean smirks. "You scratched their back, so they scratched yours." The cock in his hand throbs when he thumbs the crown and smears it with precome. "Did you earn yourself a nice little reputation as a pole smoker?"

"How crass. I prefer oral-enthusiast, if you don't mind."

"Whatever works," Dean replies, contemplating what he wants to try first. "Can't be that hard, right?"

"So you've never been curious enough to try until this very moment?"

"I've been curious for eleven years. The last Dean rejected me."

Deano clicks his tongue.

"I don't know if I should be offended that I was your second choice, or that this wouldn't be happening at all had you succeeded the first time."

He has a point. Dean palms his cock in apology and sucks the spot on his neck that never fails to make him shut down for half a second.

"Chances are, if I enjoyed my time with that asshole, I'd still want to take you for a ride," he tells him, breathing wet and warm on his neck, watching the patch of spit glisten. He brushes the shadow of his chin over it, enjoying the shudder of pleasure it elicits. "Besides. You're turnin' me on so far. Even if you are a snob."

"How dare you," Deano replies, heart not in it. "If I'm a snob, you're a brute."

"Fair enough." He unbuttons Dean's pants, tugs down his zipper and lifts his body. "Kick them off."

"I rather like the way you order me around. Would you prefer I refer to you as Sir? Perhaps commander would suit you better?"

"Call me whatever you want, just get your damn pants off," Dean bites, gnaws on the shell of his ear and blows a channel of air over the shell. Deano wriggles out of his pants and boxers in between quiet, bitten off moans.

"Shouldn't we fold those and set them on the chair?"

Dean shows him his face then, leaning over him, staring down at him like he just said cake is better than pie.

"No. They'll be fine where they are."

This doesn't seem to sit right with Deano, who seems to have forgotten that he asked Dean to tear his shirt not ten minutes earlier. "We just leave them on the floor? How barberic."

"You wanted to see how the other side lives. Well, this is how it is. Take notes if you want to, write a damn book. But before that," Dean starts, pausing to retreat, taking Deano's cock in his palm and lightly squeezing. "Huh. Didn't realise how thick I was until now."

"I'm aware. Quite frankly, I'm rather looking forward to seeing if I can fit all of you inside."

"Which hole?" Dean snarks, losing confidence as he stares at his cock, attached to an alternate version of himself, and wondering if he can even get half in his mouth.

"My assumption was that by the end of our night of carnal passion, you would have penetrated both of my holes, as you so eloquently put it."

Dean would like to know why that makes him leak into his briefs. And also why he wants to hear more shit like that. Holy crap. Is he attracted to pompous douchebags?

"Yeah, well, sure. That's… That's the plan, I guess," he grumbles, licking his lips as he eyes the leaking slit. "Okay. Here we go. No big deal." Lowering himself enough to hover his mouth over the crown, Dean nods his head, as if the action will give him the courage to just get it over with. He smells clean. Really clean, actually. There's that, at least. "You'll tell me if you're gonna… Y'know…"

As willing as he is to suck Deano's cock, he's not sure he's down for getting a mouthful of jizz. Maybe. That could change.

"You have my word."

"Awesome," Dean replies, swallows the lump in his throat and decides to lick the precome off first. It's not bitter. It's not sweet either. It's doable, so Dean puts one hand around the base and takes the crown into his mouth, pushing his tongue against the underside and swiping. He likes that, which means Deano probably likes that.

"Mercy, that's splendid. Simply wonderful," Deano moans, fingers curling into the sheets. Dean's thankful he didn't buck. He continues to focus on the head, for now, bobbing, weaving, letting him glide over the insides of his cheeks. "Dean! Oh, Dean, I pray you never stop what you're doing."

Seriously. Why does he like that? Why is he taking more into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks to try and steal more of that… that stupid sophisto-dirty-talk. Sophisto-talk. It's a work in progress. The point is, he likes it, and he has no fucking idea why.

"Goodness me." Dean sucks, hard, drags his lips back, puts pressure on his lips all the way up to the tip. "Heavens… Lord above, I find it quite indigestible that this is your first time, I must say."

Dean pulls off, then, jerks him off roughly, cock slick with his own spit. That's kind of gross. But it's working, so whatever. "What can I say? I'm a natural," he replies, feeling a hell of a lot more confident as he takes Deano back inside, trying to relax his throat and let him into the wet, warm channel.

He gags a little. Deano suggests that he breathes, slow down, take it one step at a time. Dean does, pulls back and tries again and again until he feels Deano settle in his throat, lips not touching homebase, but close enough.

"So good. Absolutely transcendent," Deano praises, head thrown back on the pillow and one arm over his face. He looks hot, wrung out, stomach contracting, hips wriggling, thighs tensing. Sucking dick isn't his new favourite thing to do or whatever, but seeing Deano's face debauched, mouth parted on quiet moans and body glistening with clean sweat is steadily becoming a contender. "Gracious," Deano pants, hisses when Dean narrows his tongue and tightens his lips around him. "I truly do not want this to end, but I fear it will all too soon if you persist."

Dean changes his mind. Now he does want Deano's cum, if only to see how he reacts to it, hear what he says. He jerks what he can't get his lips around, using his free hand to tickle and roll Deano's balls, palming them, ducking under to run lines over his taint.

He sucks harder, drags his lips back and forth, slightly repulsed by the slick build up of spit in his mouth sounding in his ears with each drop. Deano puts a hand over his mouth. Dean smacks his stomach in warning, so he removes it, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, moans falling from moist, full lips. Dean goes faster, bobs over and over, eyes watching for any reactions.

There's nonstop movement, legs kicking out, thighs flexing, ass shifting on the bed. Dean watches Dean's stomach tighten and release, listens to him moan, verging on broken whines as he circles his tongue like a record player. And with the way Deano's head is rolling and lifting, it's no surprise _'You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)'_ plays out in his head.

Dean tightens his lips like a vice, wanting Deano to lose his fucking mind. He wants him to lose that control he has on the thesaurus that apparently lives inside his head and get a little dirty.

That's what gives him the motivation to push that bit more, lips sealing around the base of Deano's cock, throat trapping him, contracting around his length. Deano's head turns into the pillow and he screams with a strip of fabric between his perfectly straight teeth. His fingers curl, his toes along with it, his chest rising and falling rapidly, hips twisting, eager to push further than possible into Dean's mouth.

He looks absolutely wrecked, body shaking, breaths hissing through the gaps in his lips. Dean draws back to the top, tongues the slit, swirls his tongue like he's the tastiest fucking lollipop and he can't get enough. In a way, he kind of is. But what he wants are Deano's cries. He wants to ruin him, destroy him, leave him boneless.

"Dean… I really cannot hold on much longer… I—Merciful Father in Heaven!"

Eventually, Dean's going to get what he wants. Not that he isn't getting off on the pompous shit, for reasons that still make no sense to him. That's not the end goal.

Maybe he'll have to change tactics.

Getting a loose grip on the base of Deano's cock, Dean fucks his head down on his cock, vigorously, breathing in deep through his nose, other hand tickling his balls, picking them up, laying them in his palm, rolling them.

"Oh dear God. Oh dear God. Oh dear God! Dean—I'm—I'm coming!"

Dean groans around the thick mass in his mouth and takes him right down to the root, nuzzling into the clean, bare flesh around his groin, scenting him, rubbing his nose over the soft grooves. He imprints on his skin, swallowing greedily, again and again.

Deano comes with a shout, the hot, thick ropes painting Dean's throat, the bitterness settling in. He doesn't mind it, much. It's not something he would opt for if he could, like, make it taste like apple pie, but it's not the end of the world. And the look in Deano's eyes, so blissed out and in awe of him at the same time, makes it completely worth how it feels sliding down his throat.

Man or woman, it seems that Dean cannot help being a royal tease, not letting Deano slip from his mouth, swallowing and sucking and licking and hollowing his cheeks through his orgasm, Deano's fists pound the sheets, legs bending into an arc that gives Dean a view of the space between his cheeks.

Smooth. Jesus. He's never really paid attention to what buttholes look like before, but Deano's looks good enough to eat. Slightly moist from clean sweat, clenching and unclenching as Dean holds fast to the crown of his cock, dragging him back as far as he can take him. He drinks in every broken, wet moan and plea for him to stop.

When Dean assumes it's probably getting to the point of too much pleasure-pain due to sensitivity, he lets him slip from his mouth, buries his face in his groin and kisses and worries the skin there, contemplating his next move.

Deano sounds like he's on the last leg of a marathon, absolutely fucked out, one hand on his face, the other twitching on his stomach as Dean sucks bruises onto his groin, hips, thighs. He's never really been one to bask in the glow until it's all over, too eager to take or get as much as he can before he has to go back to being a hunter.

"I am deceased. Truly. You have single-handedly decimated my brain cells."

Dean smirks, kissing a line up to his abdomen, bites his thumb knuckle to get him to move out of the way and then drags his tongue over Deano's naval, thumbs sweeping over his hips. His cock is so hard that it actually hurts, throbbing against his zipper, demanding to be set free, but he's having too much damn fun teasing the shit out of Deano to care.

"Then why are you able to talk?" Dean replies, a grin on his lips. He blows on the sensitive nerves surrounding Deano's navel, lathes over him and grazes his teeth. He sucks the skin into his mouth, smoothes his hands up his sides, curls his fingers over his shoulders and drags him down the bed, slotting between the spread of his legs so he can attack his throat. "If you're brain dead, you should be babbling, right?"

Deano moans from the hard sucks to his neck, lolling into him, ass shifting up to brush over Dean's crotch. He hisses from the contact, curls into Deano, fucks him down into the mattress, breaths harsh and heavy on his throat. He grinds, tucks his ass in, spreading Deano's legs to fold them around the small of his back.

Hands come up to cart through his hair. Dean secures them, pins them to the bed, ruts and grinds and bruises an unmarred lea of flesh to the side of Deano's throat, swallowing his praises and moans with his lips moments later, devouring his mouth, Deano's body breathing into the memory foam beneath them—and Dean thrusts harder when he realises that he wants it to remember them both, this night.

"Please… Dean. I want to feel all of you. Please do not deny me this," Deano says, tearing a throaty groan from him. He lets his legs fall, strips out of his jeans in record time, about to peel off his briefs when suddenly he's being shoved to the end of the bed, just narrowly avoiding a trip by digging his foot into the ground.

Deano guides him off the bed, perches on the end of it, buries his nose into his groin and rubs his face everywhere, mouthing him until he's wet, running fingers up his legs, thighs, over his ass, digging into the meat and squeezing. Dean bucks, rubbing his clothed erection over Deano's face, who gets his teeth on his waist band, pulls back and lets it snap on his skin, far too many times for Dean's sanity.

"I love the smell of a man who cleans up nice and yet still retains that masculine odor." Deano nips the skin above Dean's waistband, flexes his fingers against his ass, nuzzles the groove of his upper thigh and breathes in deep. "It's rather addictive."

Watching Deano's cock twitch back to life has him breathing out a guttural fuck. He's mesmerised, watching it lift, fill out, jump as Deano inhales him and mouths his balls through his boxers. It blurts out a pea-sized drop then, nimble fingers guiding his boxers over the swell of his ass and cock, thumbs sweeping the fair hairs on his legs all the way down.

Dean steps out of them, kicks them away like they're offending him by being there, and then Deano's hands are back on his ass, pushing him hard into his face, cock dragging over his cheek, smearing his skin with streaks of white.

Deano's lashes flutter, moist lips trail down the side of his cock, stopping at his groin to breathe him in deep and exhale a shuddering breath. Never in his life has someone made him feel so wanted, so needed, in a sexual sense, and he's drunk with it, catching Deano's chin in his hands, pushing his head back, prying his mouth open with his thumb and index.

Lips part, a mouth falls open, a tongue peeks out and Dean rests his leaking crown on the slope, staring into dazed, hungry eyes. He gets a firm grip in his hair, widens his stance, takes in a breath and then thrusts smoothly into Deano's mouth.

He takes him like he's been doing it for hours without a break, slick and ready, Dean's balls slapping his chin before he knows what's happening. Deano swallows around him, digs nails into the skin of his ass and just lets Dean facefuck him.

It's slow for the first minute, drawn out plunges that make Dean hiss and grit his teeth. Then he tightens his hold on Deano's head, pulling him back onto every thrust as he fucks forward, spit spilling out of the gaps, Deano's eyes tensing but showing no signs that he's not enjoying it. His fingers bite harder on Dean's ass. Wet, obscene squelches come from inside his mouth as he breathes through his nose and hollows his cheeks. Deano's cock twitches and leaks and he moans at the assault.

Dean's practically using him like a fleshlight at this point, two hands moving to line up his thumbs behind Deano's ears, hands just about connected at the back of his head. He uses the leverage to wrench Deano onto his cock, bottoming out in his throat and gyrating his hips, pressing harder and harder, Deano's head bending back but he doesn't give in.

Two hands slap Dean's ass. It's encouragement. He's not telling him to stop, pulling him forward, stretching out his throat, tongue breaking out of his bottom lip to lick Dean's balls.

"Fuck—you weren't fuckin' kiddin', were ya'," Dean says, throwing his head back as Deano's throat pulses around him, nose burried in the thatch of hair around his groin, face going red. "A'right, a'right, that's enough now."

Deano shakes his head the best he can, pushes as hard as possible to stop Dean from pulling his head off, arms moving up to coil like snakes around his waist and hold on.

"Shit—fuck… Sunovabitch! You want me to come, huh? Before you fuckin' choke to death, you crazy bastard?"

Deano nods, swallows around him, tightens the embrace of his waist and jerks his head in hardly worth mentioning back and forths that leave Dean grunting, thighs stuttering as he shoots down Deano's throat, who swallows and swallows, making sounds like Dean when he shovels pie into his mouth.

Deano lets go of his waist, puts his hands back on his ass, thumbs at his hips to guide the extrication of his cock. Deano catches him on his bottom lip when he slips out, suckles the head until it's shiny with spit and then opens his mouth to Dean's fingers flirting with his top lip.

"I knew you'd be a freak. But damn," Dean half admonishes, half praises, shoving Deano on his back and rolling him over, he drapes over his back, spent cock trapped between his asscheeks as he licks and sucks the back of his neck. He runs a hand down his side, smoothes it over the swell of his ass, something he notes is a touch bouncier than his is and gives it a swat. "Want me to eat you out like a girl?" he asks, voice a throaty rumble, and Deano tingles all over.

"With your enthusiasm, I would be a common oaf to pass on such an offer," Dean answers, spreading his legs and wriggling his ass.

Just then, a thought occurs to him.

"You have done all this before, right? Like, gone all the way, I mean?"

Deano hums, thoughtfully.

"I'm not often the one receiving, but yes. There have been a couple of men that have tempted me to present for them."

"Lucky me," Dean purrs, leaning back to part one of Deano's cheeks, watching his hole quiver and clench. "You do want this, though, right? My dick will kill me, but we don't have to do this if you're not up for it." He's honestly never found assholes a turn on, but Deano's is getting him at it like no one's business.

Just how far does this narcissism go?

Then again, he has checked out his own ass before and at least seen his asshole once or twice, and it never interested him.

Huh.

Go figure.

Deano wriggles again and thrusts his ass back. "I have never in my life been more eager to have a cock buried deep within my guts. Does that satisfy your worries, Dean?"

It certainly satisfies something, cock fattening in record time and nudging the skin of Deano's peachy ass. He rises up and spreads Deano's legs with his knees, moves him onto his hands and knees and positions his head at his ass.

"I haven't eaten ass before, so… Yeah. Let's see how it goes," he admits, sucks a thumb into his mouth and rubs it over Deano's crease, enjoying the way he opens up to let him insert the tip. "Wow. You really are eager."

"Oh yes. You are simply riveting, to me. I only wish I had longer to learn your ways and please you in any way you desire." The words make Dean pause for a second, thumb caught on Deano's pink rim. "I would spend a thousand hours learning what pleases you, what breaks you down to your most basic of instincts so that you might take me at your leisure," he adds, making Dean's cock throb and beg for relief, Deano's ass pushing back onto his thumb until he touches base. "I would take you into my mouth every morning, service you hourly if you would ask it, drop to my knees in front of God almighty and let you use any part of my body that would satisfy your needs." Dean curses under his breath and smacks Deano's ass, watching his flesh ripple. "I want nothing more than to be yours to do with as you please," he finishes strongly, looking over his shoulder.

Dean palms his cock, hissing.

"I may have to gag you if I'm gonna make it to the end of this. Fuckin' Christ, the mouth on you."

"Swear to me the so-called gag will be your cock and I shant complain."

At that, Dean stabs his hand forward, bears down and bites his lip as Deano clenches around him, the muscles of his back shifting and pulling as he rocks.

"'m not the right horse to bet on, dude," Dean says, almost to himself, releasing his thumb to watch Deano's hole snap shut. He shudders, imagining how it's going to feel wrapped snug around his cock.

"If you truly believe that, you are a fool, Dean Winchester. Now, are we going to continue chatting, or are you going to make use of my offering?"

Dean doesn't have to be asked twice, getting his head between Deano's cheeks, giving him an experimental lick. Other than a faint taste of musk which makes sense considering where it's coming from, it's manageable. So Dean lathes over him, slowly, testing the give as much as where to target for more of the deep groans suddenly emitting from Deano, who's flattening to the bed, hands coming back to spread his cheeks shamelessly.

"That good?"

He nips around Deano's hole, noses his taint and licks a stripe from the center all the way up to the 'v', where he catches Deano's back breaking out in small bumps.

"It's never been quite so wondrous."

Dean likes that. He likes that a lot.

"Hm? Do go on," he teases, brushing the stubble of his chin over it gently, loving the way Deano's thighs shake and his back bows. "Y'like that? I can't wait to hear what you're like when I'm balls deep in your ass."

"I fear I may not live to the end of such an event with how often you've reduced me to nonsensical babble."

Dean rewards that with a round of languid swipes of his tongue, putting as much pressure as he can on Deano's rim, amazed when it tries to trap the tip of his tongue inside. Deano writhes and pants, breaths more like stutters as Dean swats both sides of his ass, digs his fingers in and devours him.

"Oh my Goodness—lord above, that feels exquisite," Deano moans, and Dean grabs his wrists before they can leave their perch. He rubs soothing circles into them, imitating the same pattern with his mouth, wanting Deano to feel every thing he's giving him, wanting him to relax.

Seeing and hearing him undone is incredible, but he wants him to be fully pliant for the last step. They both know he's nothing to sneeze at, and it doesn't sound like Deano does this often.

At least not yet. If he wants to. Again, that is. Probably too soon to think about it.

Dean treats Deano like his favourite pie, savouring every moment, not letting anything go to waste, working his jaw, tongue, lips, teeth to coax him wide open. In a sense. It's not gaping or anything, but Deano's hole is spasming, little, far away moans are drifting from his lips and his wrists are lax in Dean's grip. He's the one keeping his hands in place, wiggling his tongue over Deano's entrance, now slick with spit and catching, opening with ease for Dean's tongue to slot inside.

Deano breathes in and out, body melting into the sheets, cock resting hard and heavy between his legs, but otherwise still, enjoying the moment. Which is what Dean wants, darting his tongue in and out, swirling, dragging the flat wide over him, lifting the flesh of his ass with the strength.

"Oh good heavens, you are a remarkable man, Dean," Deano says breathily, legs spreading further, ass lowering. Dean follows it, lets go of his wrists to guide his legs into a more comfortable position.

He switches positions then, moving over to Deano's side, facing away from him. He spreads his cheeks with both hands, dribbles a line of spit around his rim and bends to thrash and tongue his hole, moving in hurried, twisting jerks that have Deano keeping up a constant litany of 'ohs', some of which cutting off like the air is torn from his lungs.

Deano's hips rise then, ass pushing out, and Dean uses the opportunity to slick his hand, reaching under him to give him a fist to fuck into while he muches on his hole with renewed vigour, assuming a second orgasm will probably help with the last stop on this party bus.

"So good. So incredible. I've never felt so stimulated before. Every touch feels like a hundred different climaxes. I would beg down on my knees for this night to never end."

Maybe Dean would want that, too.

Maybe.

"I want you to come for me, De," Dean husks, not realising that he just gave him an affectionate nickname, much like the one Sam used to call him when he couldn't quite form the 'ean' part. He should be weirded out by it, but he isn't. "Come on. I wanna feel your sweet hole clench around my tongue and I want you to fuck my hand. Do it!"

Deano cries out, hips jerking, fucking into the circle of Dean's fist. Dean eggs him on as he buries his face in Deano's ass and thrusts his tongue in and out of him, bathing him in spit and loving every twitch, every spasm, every tensing of Deano's thigh muscles and stutter of his cock dragging back through his fist.

"That's it. Yeah, c'mon. C'mon, De, come for me!"

Apparently, Deano's opting not to comment on the second spew of a nickname he had no intentions of giving to him but is kind of just going along with. He adheres to the command, fucking hard into his fist, clenching and unclenching around him until his cock is swelling in Dean's grip, asscheeks squeezing together.

Dean jerks him off through it, pitching up to watch him flutter, cum coating his hand and wrist, spilling out onto the sheets. Deano chants his name like a mantra, squirms and writhes and gyrates his hips, reminding Dean that they're about to get to the main event.

He takes his hand back, licks the layers of cum off, sucking his fingers clean, then reaching around to shove them in Deano's mouth so he can suckle and moan.

As fast as his body can move, Dean prompts Deano for where his lube is, if he has any, because Dean can't walk to his room like this or text Sam to bring him some—luckily he had the mind to steal some packets from Dean's room. It's risky, but he assumes that Deano is careful and clean and Dean honestly doesn't want anything between them.

If Deano has anything, he already has it in his mouth, so what's the difference, truly?

"Forgive my excitement," Deano says as Dean straddles his thighs and rubs lube around his hole. "I am unquantifiably anxious to have you sheathed within me."

Dean slaps him once. Then again. Then twice more for good measure. "Unless you want me to finish over your ass instead of in, shut up."

"You seem to be rather fond of spanking me, Dean. Do I detect the kindlings of a fetish?"

Dean spanks him harder just for that, admittedly enjoying the ripples and how his ass clenches and hips rock into the sheets. "You're gonna detect my foot in your ass if you don't cram it." He shoves a finger in third-knuckle deep, Deano relaxed and pliant beneath him, ass wriggling, rocking back on his finger. "That's better."

Since this isn't his usual gig, Dean's a little unprepared for what to expect, so he figures that waiting for Deano to, like, bloom or whatever is probably the right way to go. He keeps his thrusts deep, twists and wiggles his finger around inside him, taking Deano's frequent curls and grinds to mean that he's enjoying what's happening to him.

The deep, stuttered moans as he thrashes his head and curls his fingers into the sheets is also a good sign.

"I can handle another one, Dean. Please, I've not much patience left."

Dean smirks at that, bending forward to lick the small of his back, kissing each dimple at the bottom of his spine.

"Find some," he replies and nips the curve of Deano's ass, twisting his finger this way and that. "'cause I'm not plannin' on bein' gentle."

Deano's hole squeezes his digit in response and he mumbles something incoherent into the sheets. Dean licks his lips, mouths and grazes every bit of flesh he can, adding a second finger to start spreading Deano further, loving the way he flexes and quivers around him.

Currently, Dean's experience with male butts is narrowed down to that one time that he got curious enough to shove a finger up his ass, only to realise that he didn't really get what the fuss was about. He had a threesome with some girl and a guy he hunted with one time, and the girl slipped him the finger when he got close. Dean watched it happen, saw how he seemed to like it and go off like a rocket, decided to try it for himself and wasn't impressed.

His point is that he's aware that he has a prostate, and that Deano has a prostate and that all dudes have prostates. He just didn't really care for how it felt.

Deano, on the other hand, seems to like it a lot. He's squirming, tensing, breaking out in a glossy sheen of sweat, panting and moaning softly, pushing his ass back to get Dean in deeper. Dean felt the bump he needed to put pressure on. The more he works it, the more Deano seems to come apart and open for him at the same time, begging for him to take him already.

Tempted is an understatement for how Dean feels right now. It's a miracle he hasn't clamped a hand down on the back of Deano's neck, held him down and fucked him through the floor, honestly.

When he's three-fingers deep, and Deano is taking him with little to no effort, Dean decides that enough is enough.

"A'right. I think you're ready for me."

"Yes. For the love of all that is holy, please stick your cock in me," Deano nearly shouts, rising on to all fours, staring over his shoulder with pleading, darkened eyes. "Don't hold anything back. I want all of you or nothing at all."

Dean curses under his breath, pulls Deano back so his cock is trapped between the cleft of his ass. He thrusts against him, paints bruises on his hips and cants back to tease over Deano's well-prepped hole, he might add.

"I told you I wasn't plannin' on bein' gentle, didn' I?"

"You did. Now, if you please, prove it."

It might be the challenge in Deano's voice that makes Dean nudge his crown up against his entrance and snap his hips forward, filling Deano up in one, fast drive that has him gasping and tensing up, hard.

"Fuck. You okay?"

Deano nods his head, brings one hand back to latch on Dean's hip, cutting off his plan to retreat. "Just. A moment. If you will. In my eagerness, I neglected to remember that it's been over a year."

In Dean's defence, Deano did egg him on.

He watches him fidget, listens to him breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, watches his back bow into a perfect arch and then feels Deano fluttering around his cock, which is making his stagnant position about a million times harder, no pun intended.

"Hang on, please. My apologies. I completely disregarded how thick we are."

Dean rubs Deano's back, hoping that it might release some of the tension, ignoring his cock throbbing in his channel from the words coming out of his mouth. The way Deano was so eager, and with how diligently he prepared him, he thought it would have been a smooth glide.

At least, it was for him.

"Do you mind adding more lubricant? If you apply it while thrusting, it will help to make it easier. I apologize for the incon—"

"Stop apologizing," Dean snaps, taking Deano's advice and pouring a liberal amount of lube down onto his cock as he shallowly thrusts in and out, noticing the change almost immediately. Fuck. He feels like a massive douche. "It's on me, anyway, so let's just let bygones be bygones or whatever."

Subtly, he checks the state of Deano's cock. He hadn't noticed if he had gotten hard or not while he was prepping him, but he's happy that, whatever the case, he's not totally soft.

"Oh goodness… Yes. Oh yes, that's much better," Deano says, taking his hand back and supporting himself on all fours. Dean drops his eyes to where his cock is disappearing in and out of Deano's ass and groans. "You're fine to quicken the pace now. I can take it."

"You sure?"

"I needed only a moment to adjust. I assure you I'm ready for whatever you have to give me."

"O-kay," Dean replies, a little hesitantly. He doesn't want to tear him or nothing. That would be awful. But he did say he wasn't going to be gentle, and Deano clearly doesn't want him to be.

Deano keeps up a stream of pleasant sounds as Dean speeds up his movements, trying to focus on what he can feel as his cock drags along Deano's passage, experimenting with angles, pushing Deano flatter to the bed, supporting him with one hand. Deano doesn't protest the change, grunting and moaning and swaying his head side to side, Dean's cock sliding through him with zero resistance now.

Their skin slaps together, pelting, echoing through the room. Deano can hardly get words out, head drooping, body poised to let Dean go as hard or soft as he wants. It feels incredible, the clutch of Deano's body teasing the nerves of his cock with each thrust, the heat making his eyes roll back in his head, the clench of his hole when he bottoms out driving him mad with lust.

"Oh gracious—it's so good. It's so good, Dean. I love it," Deano praises, and Dean actually finds himself preening. "I've never felt so full, so owned."

Dean hasn't forgotten his side mission in all of this, and once he finds an angle that has Deano struggling to form syllables, he puts his plan into action. He reaches his arms forward, cups his hands underneath Deano's chin, pulling his head back as he thrusts down into him, hips slanted, cock fully buried. He grinds then, pressing hard against him, listening to his changes in pitch, feeling him swallow from the pressure of his fingers on his throat.

Each push rewards him a gasp or a moan or fuck knows what else, but it's not what he wants. So he keeps going, keeps grinding, keeps pulling Deano back, working that angle until something clicks into place, and he finally hears it.

"Fuck!"

Dean expected to have some kind of reaction to it. It's what he wanted after all. He didn't expect to wrench Deano back against him, one hand on his throat, the other settled across his chest to keep him upright, hips incling back to start pounding Deano's ass. He sucks at his neck, bites him, licks up to his ear and fucks harder.

Deano cries out and slaps a hand over his mouth. Dean throws it away, pins it to Deano's slick chest under his arm.

"What was that you just said, De? I didn't quite hear ya'," he husks, voice like gravel and broken glass as he snaps his hips in sharp, paced out thrusts that have Deano trying to cover his mouth with his freehand, which gets trapped, too. "Wanna repeat that for me?"

To his credit, Deano has a stubborn streak, mouth clamped tight. Dean tsks, sucks another mark on his ear and pounds him hard and fast for a good ten seconds before slowing down to a crawl, dragging each pull out.

"Fuck!"

It's like music to Dean's ears, hearing Deano use such foul language. It's not that Dean even considers it to be bad, but Deano must have an aversion to it because he clamps up again and shakes his head the best he can in Dean's hold.

Dean dislodges himself from Deano's body, drinks in the whines of protest and flips him onto his back. He drags him to the end of the bed, spreads his legs and drapes himself over Deano's front, rubbing their slick cocks together with each roll of his hips, assaulting all the points on Deano's neck that have him panting in Dean's ear.

"Someone's got a potty mouth," Dean husks, getting his hands under Deano's ass to lift him into his thrusts.

"You're a bad influence, Dean Winchester." His lips stretch in response and he sucks hard on the side of his throat. "My Father would be positively vexed should he ever witness such an atrocity spilling from my mouth."

All movement stops for a second, long enough for Dean to roll his eyes and bite Deano's ear. Sensing that he's about to say something else, he seals their lips, presses him harder into the sheets, forces his tongue into his mouth. He tastes every bit of him, swallowing his needy moans that settle in his stomach, spurring on the drags of their cocks.

He cants his hips back, dips to press the tip of his cock against Deano's hole, amused by the way it quivers and tries to catch on him.

"Want my cock back in you?"

It's Deano's turn to pitch up to latch onto his neck and suck, hand shooting down to curl around Dean's cock and stopping him from backing off. He shifts his ass back, takes Dean's crown in, mouths and licks his throat, encouraging Dean's body to stagger forward, cock filling out Deano's insides, balls touching base.

"Fuck." This time, it's Dean who curses, head dropping to Deano's shoulder, allowing him to suck bruises onto his neck, teeth grazing his ear, warm breath ghosting over him.

He fucks in and out, slowly now, wanting to experience every part of Deano's body clenching around him on his way out, only to swallow him whole on his way back in. Deano's head flops back, eyes squeezing shut, arms coming around Dean's back and crushing him to him, ankles locked tight, giving him no option of leaving, even if he wanted to.

Beneath him, he hears it. "Please don't stop. So good. Incredible. Wonderful. I love it. Your cock feels amazing." It makes him crush Deano back, leaving no space between them as he fucks him with hard, deep thrusts, burying himself balls deep each time. "Fuck me. Yes. Please. More."

Dean's muscles are aching from the way he's holding on, but it doesn't stop him from folding Deano in half, using the grip on his shoulders to increase the power behind his thrusts. He watches Deano's face break out in more wrinkles than he's ever seen on his own. He moans through the gaps in his teeth, fingers digging into Dean's back, painting red clusters like cherry-wine stains on his skin.

It fucking hurts. Dean knows he's going to be sore tomorrow when he wakes up. He just doesn't give a shit, encouraged by the pain. Moved by it, even, fucking down as hard as he can, watching Deano's face twich, his neck tilt, his chest rise and fall.

"Mercy. Yes! That's it. That's it, Dean. Ravish me."

Dean groans at his words, eyes Deano's cock straining, leaking onto his stomach. He wants him to come. Wants to make him come with nothing but his cock. Only problem is that he doesn't know if he can do it.

"Oh goodness… Oh my goodness, Dean," Deano moans, clenches hard around him, eyes wide and glassy, lips a constant part. "I believe I'm about to come," he says, bites his lip and cranes his neck. Dean moves them so Deano's legs are resting on the bends of his arms and his ass is hanging off the bed, and just starts pounding him, holding his breath to keep in his own excitement, breathing hot and heavy through his nose, watching Deano's cock unflinchingly. "Fuck. Dean!"

And then it happens. Deano's cock swells up, rises off his body. Cum gushes out of him in streaks of white. Thick and potent, squirting on his skin, chest, stomach, trailing down his sides into the sheets. Dean doesn't let up, keeps fucking him through it, his rhythm faltering. It doesn't matter. He needs to see it.

Needs to watch Dean pant and gasp and moan and writhe as he empties onto himself, body sealing tighter around Dean by the second, coaxing him into his own release.

They're both sweating like they're in the middle of the desert. Their breathing is so loud it's a surprise they haven't been checked up on to make sure they're not in a brawl with an angry spirit. Deano's skin is so taut and slick that it's a wonder Dean is able to hold onto him as he fucks him hard and fast, this time letting him cover his mouth to keep in his screams.

"Fuck… Fuck… Fuck!"

That's all she wrote on that one, Dean's cock spurting hard and long into Deano's channel, collapsing onto his chest, grinding into him and grunting with each sensitive drag of Deano's body over his cock. He feels Deano's hands in his hair, petting him, stroking his ears, his cheeks, massaging his neck as he works on getting his breath back.

Deano strokes his sweaty back like it's not slick and disgusting, hums some song that Dean doesn't have the first clue what the words are, but finds himself tuning into it, body too fucked out and relaxed to even move at this point.

Eventually, he slips free of Deano's body. He instantly regrets it because he's honestly never felt more alive than when he was giving it to Deano like it was his last night on Earth. But then, in their life (at least his) that's a strong possibility.

While Dean is a sleepy pile of bones, Deano, surprisingly, guides him onto the bed on his back and kisses his neck, tells him that he's going to go for a shower.

Dean joins him in the shower three minutes later, already missing his company and wit. They make out, Deano cleans him with efficiency and grace and towels him off delicately, like he matters, in Dean's room. He borrows some of Dean's clothes to sleep in, and when he makes to leave for his own room, Dean pins him to the bed, makes a home in the hollow of his throat and tells him to shut up and go to sleep.

When they wake up in the morning, sleepy and sated, Dean kisses Deano awake, rids him of his bottoms, takes him into the back of his throat and blows him until he's tugging on Dean's hair and filling his throat. Then, Deano turns onto his side, looks over his shoulder and parts one cheek in invitation, and Dean fucks him nice and slow, freshening the bruises on his neck and throat and deep-kissing him for what seems like hours.

Samuel tells them during lunch that the flights have all been worked out. Dean doesn't want them to go. He makes up an excuse for them to stay longer, ignores Sam's look of 'what the hell dude' and tells him they could use the help, that they can teach them to be real hunters.

He knows it's selfish. Deano and Samuel aren't familiar with the way they do things, don't know how hard it can be out there. But Dean doesn't have the strength to say goodbye to Deano, and when Sam gives in and agrees that Dean's had worse ideas, he thanks him by taking Deano on a run to get some dinner. He buys Sam all the fixings that he loves, and then sits back while Deano inhales his cock off the side of the road, lying that there were really long lines when they return to the bunker.

One day, Sam and Samuel are off doing whatever they're doing somewhere. Deano is napping on the couch. Dean had noticed a few times before, but seeing Deano looking so innocent, so peaceful, sleeping on the couch, struck him in a really weird way.

He has his face, yet Dean doesn't see it. He sees someone different. Completely different. From his hair all the way to his toes, Dean doesn't see himself, and maybe that's why he's okay with unzipping his pants, getting Deano out of his silk boxers (he wouldn't settle for anything less) and bathing his cock in spit, not stopping when Deano snaps awake and squirms beneath him.

Both of them are pretty sure that Sam and Samuel know, especially since that one time where Deano was blowing Dean under the table while he pretended to be engrossed in what he was doing, and Sam practically ran from the room. The heat around his cock felt too good to care, so Dean had moved Deano up onto his lap and mouthed his throat while Dean used the back of the chair to lift himself up and down on his cock.

There was also the time that Samuel went looking for Deano. He found them together 'working' on Baby, not knowing that just minutes before Deano had been bent over the hood while Dean ate him out until he came with a shout. They didn't have time to clean Deano's jizz off the car in time, so they had to distance themselves and pretend that there wasn't a visible stain.

About four weeks into this whole thing between them, Dean questioned to himself why Deano hadn't tried to, y'know, but figured that if Deano's happy with the way things are, far be it for him to throw a spanner in the works.

Embarrassingly, Dean hadn't been lying all those years ago when he said he likes long walks on the beach and frisky women. Only, the long walks can be had anywhere, and the frisky woman is apparently Deano getting handsy and teasing him enough that he pins him to the ground and fucks him hard and dirty on a patch of grass. Or winds Dean up enough that he blows him three times over, swallowing every load and helping him walk on unsteady legs back to the Impala.

They stopped pretending there was nothing going on by the second month, which made it easier to come up behind Deano and kiss and lick his throat after being away for a hunt with Sam, pulling him back against him, his intention very clear. And Deano would get it without fuss, letting him fuck him as hard as he needs.

Around month four, Deano is massaging him, working out every kink and making him forget a lot of shit he had bottled up. He treats him with so much love and care that the words slip out of his mouth without his permission. Deano doesn't hesitate, just tells him he loves him, too, and Dean falls asleep under his careful hands.

He never expected that he would find love from an alternate version of himself, who's so far removed from him it's almost laughable.

But the world is funny that way.

Yeah.

It sure is.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. :D


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